


love in the time of clorox

by hesselives



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Gen, Humor, M/M, this is ridic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-19 08:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/881522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hesselives/pseuds/hesselives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a roll of paper towel sets out to win the heart of a peculiarly handsome steam mop.</p><p>(for <s>my own</s> <a href="http://snkkink.dreamwidth.org/524.html?thread=998668">this snkkink prompt</a>: <em>reiner = brauny paper towel. bertholdt = hoover steam mop. together, they make household cleaning a magical experience.</em>)</p><p>[ DROPPED, my apologies ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

Life as a roll of paper towel, Reiner thinks, isn't very exciting.

Sure, he has friends here in the House and they’re nice company, but he always feels that there’s something _missing_. He just doesn't know what.

“Am I getting old?” he asks one of the plates sitting in the kitchen sink. "Is that what's happening here?"

“Yeah, sure,” Mikasa replies absently. She shifts around, trying to knock some crumbs off, but only succeeds in irritating the other plates. “Sorry, guys.”

Reiner sighs noisily and settles in for a long day of absolutely nothing.

+++++

“Reiner, wake up!”

“Huh—what?” he mumbles blearily, looking around to see who called him. Oh, Mikasa.

“Look, our Human must’ve dropped it off when we were napping. What do you think that is?” She peers over the sink, balancing precariously on a pile of her grumbling companions. Reiner follows her gaze and his eye catches on a large brown box sitting in front of the hall closet.

“Could be anything,” Reiner says, curiosity piqued, “but knowing him, it’s probably another vacuum cleaner.”

Mikasa frowns. (At least, he thinks so. It’s hard to tell.) “How many does a Human need? Four is a bit much already.”

“Who gives a shit?” a voice from above interrupts angrily. “The Human just does whatever the fuck he wants. We’re powerless.”

Reiner doesn’t even have to look up to know who it is. “Eren, tone it down,” he says sternly. “There are impressionable young objects here.”

The bottle of Jägermeister snorts, looking down at him from the liquor cabinet. “And they should know that there’s more to life than just _sitting around_. We should be free to see the goddamn world. We have rights, too!”

Reiner sighs. They’ve had this conversation more times than he could count. (And he can count pretty damn high – he’s got 100 perforated sheets, after all.) “Seriously, you hard liquors never make any sense.”

“Guys,” says another voice, exasperated, “can we not do this today?”

Eren looks the tiniest bit abashed as he sees his best friend pushing open the other cabinet. “Sorry, Armin. But I mean, really – what does _he_ know? I’ve seen the exotic foods aisle when I was living at the grocery store, and you can’t even begin to imagine the kinds of countries–”

“I think it’s wonderful, Eren,” an Arm & Hammer box says in a placating tone, then sighs, sending up a tiny poof of baking soda. “But not everyone shares our dream. We have to respect that.”

“Fine,” Eren huffs out. He sloshes around irritably for good measure, though.

Armin leans out of his cabinet a bit, trying to get a better view of the mysterious brown box. “You think it can hear us? We should say hi, so it doesn't feel lonely.”

Another voice from the laundry room drawls out, “If it _can_ hear you, it probably thinks you’re all really fucking weird and wants to go back where it came from.”

“Shut up, Jean,” Eren says crossly. “Like you’re so great. The Human only wears you on laundry day when he literally has nothing else.”

The worn-out denim jeans barks out a laugh. “And he constantly has nothing to wear because he’s a borderline alcoholic who gets wasted off _you_ and throws up all over himself. Reiner knows what I’m talking about. He’s constantly cleaning up after your shit.”

“ _My_ shit? You better watch your fucking–”

“Guys, seriously! Can’t we act like civilized brand-name products for just one day? Is that so much to ask?”

“Armin, you really can’t let this asshole–”

“God, Eren, let the guy speak, will you?”

“Hey, Armin’s _my_ friend not yours–”

As the bickering rises in pitch, Reiner ignores all of them with practiced ease and contemplates going back to sleep.

+++++

The next day – which the Human calls _fucking Monday_ – greets the household objects with a brand new resident. The brown box is gone and left in its place is a tall, sleek and modern-looking thing. The objects aren't sure what it is exactly, which unnerves them a little, but surely it’s better than yet another vacuum cleaner.

They wait anxiously for the green light to turn on.

Well, most of them, at least.

“Oi, new guy. Wake up,” Jean demands, impatiently tapping his hems.

“ _Jean_ ,” Armin reprimands. “That’s no way to welcome someone–”

“Uh,” comes a low, startled voice. “Where am I?”

Before Jean can open his fly and say something stupid, Armin swoops in like a one-box welcoming committee.

“Hi there! How are you feeling?” he says brightly. “Sorry for all the commotion. We’re just excited to have another member of the family. Welcome to the House.”

As a long moment of silence follows, Armin starts getting nervous. “Heh, please don’t mind Jean. He’s a little rough around the seams, but he means well. Really.” He shoots a glare at Jean that clearly dictates, _Zip it or die._ (Then he mentally chortles at his own pun.)

“No, it’s– all right,” says the new guy. “Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. It’s just a lot to take in.” He exhales slowly. “I haven’t really been around any other products before.”

“You mean you came warehouse direct? You weren't set in a store or anything?” Armin asks, sounding a bit sad.

“Yeah, pretty much.” He shifts a little on his triangular stand. “Free two-day shipping from Amazon.”

Armin nods. “I’ve heard of that. Oh! Pardon me, I should introduce myself. I’m Arm & Hammer, but everyone calls me Armin for short.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Armin. Well, as it says here, I’m Hoover– ” (he looks down at his own logo) “–but you can call me Bertholdt.”

“Bertholdt, huh?” Jean interrupts, eyeing him skeptically. “What are you exactly? What is it that you do?” (He ignores Armin’s exasperated protests.)

“It’s okay,” Bertholdt says. “They’re valid questions. To be precise, I’m a dual-tank steam mop. Using either heated water or disinfectant, I can clean all sorts of floors. Carpet, too.”

“A _steam_ mop? And on carpet, too?” Armin exclaims. “That’s impressive.”

“Oh no, not really,” Bertholdt says modestly. “I mean, I’m not cordless or anything.”

“Being cordless is overrated anyway,” Armin says cheerfully. Beaming like sunshine, he goes around introducing everyone at such a fast pace that Bertholdt whirrs a bit in anxiety, trying to remember everyone’s name.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. What was your name, again?” Bertholdt looks up at the kitchen counter where Reiner is sitting. Suddenly having the full attention of a tall, well-made specimen of modern technology, Reiner begins feeling a tad dizzy. And hot.

“Braun. Uh, paper towel. Well, I guess that’s obvious. Haha. But– Reiner. That’s my name. You can call me that.” Too late Reiner realizes what actually came out of his mouth, and immediately lapses into mortified silence.

(“Smooth,” Mikasa mutters under her breath.)

Bertholdt looks a little confused but smiles anyway.

For the first time in his life, Reiner feels completely inadequate and ugly, and wants nothing more than to drown himself in the kitchen sink.


	2. two

Their first real conversation doesn’t start off at all like Reiner had hoped.

What he had hoped:  
 _“Wow, Reiner. It’s amazing how tough you are!” Bertholdt would say with shining admiration._  
 _“Oh, it’s nothing. I’m built to be strong and efficient, after all,” he would reply humbly._  
 _“We make such a good team,” Bertholdt would continue, his voice full of devotion. “I think I could spend the rest of my life with you.”_  
 _And Reiner would manfully accept in a steady baritone, “Nothing would make me happier, my dear Bertholdt.”_

And okay, Reiner admits that’s a little unrealistic for a first conversation, but it very neatly summarizes what he would like to eventually happen.

However, because life is cruel and full of torture, what actually happens is this:

“Pardon me, Reiner,” Bertholdt says to him softly. It’s a deceptively beautiful morning, full of sunshine and chirping birds. (Later, Reiner will hate all of it with the intensity of a thousand Roombas.)

Bertholdt's voice jolts him out of his half-asleep state, and he immediately straightens up. “Oh, good morning!”

“Ah, good morning to you, too,” Bertholdt says with a little lopsided smile. Then he coughs and points as politely as he can with his extension cord. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I think you’re leaking.”

Metaphorically speaking, Reiner feels like he’s been hit with a brick. A brick forged out of humiliation, fired in a kiln of embarrassment, and left to disintegrate in a desert of shame.

“I–” Denial. He’s going to go for denial. Full throttle. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Bertholdt frowns a bit. “Isn’t your left side soaked with water?”

It is. And Reiner has no idea how he didn’t notice it before (he must’ve accidentally been set on a puddle of water overnight), but he’s already gone this far so he can’t turn back now.

“No, that’s completely normal,” he says as stoically as possible.

Bertholdt doesn’t look remotely convinced.

“It’s a training method of mine,” Reiner continues (though he doesn’t know why and seriously why isn’t anyone stopping him). “Once I dry out, my paper material actually becomes stronger.”

He prays like never before to the god of sanitation that Bertholdt will just accept that and forget this whole thing ever happened.

But of course, life hates him, and Bertholdt has to be all intelligent and shit. “I’m sorry, but could you explain it in more detail? I mean, I don’t know that much about paper to be honest, but I would think that soaking in water actually results in loss of durability? Is there a significant difference between your first and secondary absorption rate?”

“Yes,” Reiner says abruptly, and very determinedly stares at the wall above Bertholdt’s head.

He doesn’t catch Bertholdt’s hurt look and subsequent faint apology at having offended Reiner.

For the rest of the day, Bertholdt remains silent.

+++++

The next morning, Reiner wakes up with a heavy heart and wonders how the hell he’s going to fix things with Bertholdt (who must think he’s a complete and utter idiot), when suddenly he notices a ball of lint in front of him.

“What the–?” he grumbles, thinking that the Human must’ve forgotten to toss it in the trash can.

Mikasa peers over the kitchen sink at him. “Bertholdt left that for you.”

At the mention of Bertholdt’s name, Reiner immediately freezes. “What?”

Is it some kind of sign? A special custom that steam mops do before they set something on fire? Is he now officially a pariah of the steam-mop community (ignoring the fact that there is no such community in the House)?

“I think it means he’s sorry,” Mikasa says with the vaguest hint of sympathy. Usually, she doesn’t involve herself in other objects’ drama, but Reiner’s looked out for her before and she wants to repay the favor.

“How do _you_ know?” he exclaims. “It could mean anything! Hell, it could be a declaration of _war_. I’m not ready to die, Mikasa. I’m just not.”

She sighs and reminds herself that yes, there is a favor and she does need to repay it at some point in time. “Because he told me, ‘Mikasa, I’m afraid I unwittingly upset Reiner. All I have is this ball of lint but could you please give it to him and let him know that I’d really like to try and be friends?’ So there you go. That’s his apology.”

Shocked into silence, Reiner scoops up the ball of lint and stares reverently at it. No one’s ever given him a present before. Right away, he tucks it safely inside his cardboard roll.

“Thanks,” he says softly.

Mikasa blinks impassively. “All right, are we done here?” She starts shuffling back into the sink before stopping briefly to say, “And you should know I’m not going to play messenger to whatever love letter you’re thinking about right now.” (Reiner immediately halts at _Dear Bertholdt, your kind and generous heart–_ How the hell did she know?) “I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

Reiner pauses and frowns. “Wait, you don’t get paid at all.”

Her voice floats up from the sink in a surly sort of way. “Shut up. You know what I mean.”


	3. three

On some days, Reiner wishes advertising never existed. Today is definitely one of those days. 

It’s not that he has some moral objection to being bought and subsequently cursed at because he can’t fulfill false promises. (Not that that ever happens because let’s face it, he’s a roll of paper towel and his purpose is pretty straightforward. He does his job and no one’s ever complained about it.) It’s not that he feels it’s dishonest to present himself as being worth $2.99, when really his true cost is less than half that. (Though honestly, after several bouts of cleaning up drunken vomit, he feels he’s worth closer to $99.99.)

No, it has everything to do with his stupid ego. Somewhere along the way, he let himself believe that he’s actually stronger, better, and more absorbent than the other leading brands ( _fucking Bounty_ ). He let himself believe that that’s why the other products look up to him and trust him.

But now, he feels like he has nothing to show. Nothing to share. Nothing at all.

In utter despair, he watches Armin – friendly, intelligent Armin who effortlessly wins everyone’s affections – conversing rapidly and enthusiastically with Bertholdt. _In French_.

At least, he thinks it’s French. He doesn’t know any foreign languages. Hell, the packaging he came in barely had any English on it. But Bertholdt came complete with an instruction manual, a full forty pages long, written in French, Spanish, _and_ German. How could he even remotely come close to that? They aren’t even in the same league. 

Reiner lets out a shaky sigh. 

Now he regrets having turned down Armin’s invitation to join his biweekly trek to the Library. (The “Library” being a lone bookshelf propped in the corner of the living room, sparsely filled with the Human’s old high school required reading, dusty travel books, and some vaguely self-motivational mumbo jumbo. Armin’s made it a personal quest to get the password to the Human’s Kindle so he can finally have some _decent_ literature to read.)

If only he knew just a little bit of French. Just enough to hold Bertholdt’s attention for more than two seconds....

Reiner casts his gaze around desperately.

“Mikasa,” he hisses.

She doesn’t even bother to look over the sink. “No.”

“I didn’t even ask you yet!”

“Then let me clarify for you: no, I don’t know French.”

He shudders. “You’re scary, you know that?”

“I’m not omniscient, Reiner.” This time, she leans up against the sink to look placidly at him. “You’re just transparent.”

“Fine. Whatever.” He ruffles his sheets impatiently. “Then do you know anyone else who knows French?”

“I think Eren may--”

“No.”

“Look, you asked me. We don’t exactly have a whole bunch of French instructors just lying around.”

“Knowing Eren, whatever he’d have to teach me – if he can even teach at all – would be highly inappropriate language.”

Mikasa snorts. “It’s never not hilarious when you pretend to be all proper and shit.”

“I am _trying_ to start a real relationship here, okay? Will you help me or not?”

“You could start a real relationship by just talking to him like a normal object and say, ‘Hello, nice weather we’re having. By the way, I think you’re great and I think we’d be great together. Want to pop a DVD in and see a movie?’ But no. You just have to do things the extremely roundabout way. I can’t tell whether I should be amused or ready to kill myself.”

Reiner grumbles and looks away, embarrassed.

Seemingly satisfied with this reaction, Mikasa orders him to “stop asking me dumb things” and goes back to her afternoon nap.

+++++

After doing some minor interrogation on all the objects in his vicinity (except Eren), Reiner is seriously about to give up. He lets out a frustrated groan and thinks maybe he’s back to square one in his Mission to Win Bertholdt’s Undivided Attention and Interest.

“Yo, Reiner.”

He looks toward the laundry room in surprise. “Jean?”

“I hear you’re looking to learn French,” Jean says airily with a hint of derision.

“Yeah,” Reiner says slowly, suspicious. “Why, you know someone?”

Jean scoffs. “The clue is in my name, genius. I know French.”

Reiner gives him a look of severe doubt. “I’m talking about actual French. There’s no point if I only learn the words for cotton and polyester.”

“Do you want to learn at least _some_ French or none at all?” Jean fires back. “And for your first lesson, it’s _coton_ and _polyester_.”

“Truly amazing,” Eren deadpans, cutting in. “You’re a regular professor, Jean.”

“Oh okay, _Herr Eren_ , let’s see your own astounding grasp of the French language,” he bites out, “ _fils de pute_.”

“Hah! _I’m_ a son of a bitch? Well, _va te faire foutre_!”

“Telling me to go fuck myself? Oh, I’m so intimidated. You know what you can go ahead and do? _Manges la merde_.”

“Like I’d even touch your shit, _Arschloch_.”

“Oh really? You want to bring on the German, you piece of _scheiße_?”

Needless to say, Reiner learns no meaningful French that evening. 

(Except for _coton_ and _polyester_ , but unless he’s going to be knitting a sweater for Bertholdt, there’s no way that would-- Hold on. Wait, no. He doesn’t have hands. _Goddamnit_. Definitely back to square one.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: i know zero french. and zero german. basically, i'm not to be trusted with any foreign language. just sayin'.


	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for [juno](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Juno/profile), who drew the most fantastically adorable [fanart](http://i.imgur.com/pose1lc.jpg)! (it's basically this entire story in one pic.) please go see it and heart it with all your might. <3

It’s a balmy Saturday afternoon when the Human finally pulls Bertholdt off his stand and puts him to work. (All the while angrily muttering things like _shit, forgot to buy toilet paper again_ and _why the hell aren’t banks open on the weekend?_ ) 

When he’s done, the Human grabs Reiner and tears off a sheet to wipe away the last remaining water spots, then hastily drops him onto the ground and stomps out the door with his car keys. (The rest of the objects mumble out some half-hearted sympathies as the car keys wail faintly, _what, again? But we just got back...._ )

Reiner experiences a momentary spell of dizziness as he rolls across the hardwood floor (which, he notes in passing, is extremely clean now), and bumps to a stop at Bertholdt’s feet. He groans, lamenting his obviously shitty karma, and rolls face down wondering if he can get away with playing dead.

“Oh, dear. Reiner? Reiner! Are you all right?” Bertholdt’s voice floats down from above – way, _way_ above – like some kind of angel. An angel with mop pads instead of wings and a steam trigger instead of a halo, and— okay, Reiner doesn’t really know where he’s going with that analogy. He lies very still and determines there’s a ninety-nine percent chance he can hold this position for the rest of his life.

“Reiner! Oh heavenly steam, I think he’s knocked out,” Bertholdt frets, unraveling his extension cord to gently prod at his friend. “Reiner, can you hear me?”

A loud yawn emanates from the liquor cabinet. “He’s fine, Bertholdt. No need to get yourself in a tizzy,” Eren says in a bored tone.

Bertholdt looks over at him with no small concern and says sharply, “How can you tell? Do you have first aid certification?”

Eren snorts. “Obviously not. But I _did_ go through a full inspection by the Food and Drug Administration, so I think that’s—”

“Guys,” Reiner says, voice muffled, “I’m okay. Really.”

Bertholdt sighs in relief. “Thank goodness you’re okay.” Then he frowns a bit. “You could’ve said something earlier, you know. I was about to carry you to the infirmary.”

“We have an infirmary?”

“I meant the repair drawer. Where all the maintenance tools are.”

Reiner must have hit his head harder than he thought, because he finds himself laughing too loudly. “Hah! Even if I did need a repair, they wouldn’t know what to do with me.”

Bertholdt looks at him in confusion. “Of course they would. Their job is to fix things.”

After getting to his feet, Reiner finally looks up and makes eye contact. Sadness tugs at the edge of his smile. “They don’t fix disposable things.” 

He turns and starts slowly making his way back to the kitchen counter, when he finds himself unable to take another step. Startled, Reiner looks back to see Bertholdt determinedly holding on to the edge of his sheet.

“I’m not letting go, Reiner, unless you take back that statement.”

“Look, Bertholdt, don’t—” All of a sudden, Reiner feels so tired and hopeless, and everything seems to come out all at once. “Don’t say things you don’t mean. I know you don’t see me as anything more than a friend. I mean, how could you. I’m nowhere near modern or long-lasting – certainly not an _equal_. But from the very first day, I saw something really special about you, and I don’t have anything to offer except myself, which isn’t much, but I’ve always known my life is going to be a short one, so I might as well say it now before I’m suddenly tossed out with the trash and don’t have the opportunity to say it anymore.” He sighs and looks down at the floor. “I just— I like you. A lot.” Then says more quietly, “That’s it, really.”

A long silence follows, and Reiner can’t stand it anymore, so he turns again to go back to the kitchen only to discover that Bertholdt hadn’t released his grip. Against his will, Reiner’s little paper heart starts beating faster. (No, he mustn’t get his hopes up—)

When Bertholdt finally speaks, he sounds pained and lost. “Reiner....you’re my best friend.” (And Reiner feels his heart shredding into pieces—) “I care a lot about you, and you’re so kind even when you pretend not to be.” (And those pieces are dying and turning into ash—) “If there’s anyone I’d choose to be with, it’d be you.” Bertholdt sighs nervously and tightens his grip. “So can you please—give me some time?”

And just like that, like the sun peeking out after a rainy day, Reiner feels that bit of hope rising in him again. “I—” he says, trying to remember how to breathe. “I can do that. I can wait.”

Bertholdt smiles faintly, then blushes realizing that he’d been holding onto Reiner this whole time. “Ah, sorry!” He immediately retracts his cord and lets it awkwardly dangle in the air, looking a bit shy.

“It’s okay,” Reiner reassures him, then says more boldly, “I don’t mind. You can always hold onto me.”

“Holy mother of absinthe,” Eren interrupts loudly, “now there’s a love confession you don’t see everyday.”

“Eren, shut up, you’re ruining it!” Armin hisses, still peering over at Reiner and clinging at the edge of his cabinet with the same intensity as when he watches crime-solving shows on television.

“Yeah, Eren,” Jean chimes in, unable to resist. “Can’t you be happy for other objects for once? Or is that too difficult to manage with your tiny little cap?”

“ _What?_ ” Eren exclaims. “Were you guys even listening to the same conversation? Bertholdt said _give me time_ , not—” (he drops his voice) “ _give me your love, you sexy thing, and let’s get gay married._ ”

Having absolutely no clue of how to respond to that, Jean and Armin make identical faces of sheer disbelief. (Bertholdt stammers out, _I don’t sound like that, do I?_ To which Reiner shakes his head and affirms seriously, _most definitely not. Just ignore Eren, he’s an idiot._ )


	5. five

There comes a time every year when the Human looks around the House with a glare and yells out, _where did all this shit come from?_ Then he rolls up his sleeves and commences what the objects have learned to fear as Spring Cleaning.

Out of all of them, only Jean and Mikasa had lived at the House long enough to witness last year’s carnage, watching in horror as object after object got thrown out, never to be seen again. (The vacuum cleaners, as grizzled veterans, occasionally warn new objects of the impending day, but always fall silent when asked, _what was it like?_ )

“War is hell,” Jean says darkly. 

The other objects look at him somberly, some in sympathy and some in fear. After a moment, Eren asks in a subdued tone, “Did you--” he hesitates briefly. “Did you lose someone?”

Jean curls his hems tightly. “Yeah,” he says roughly, “my best friend.” But he doesn’t elaborate further. 

(Privately, he wonders if Marco is still alive. He imagines that maybe, just maybe, Marco was rescued from the dump by a wandering hobo who decided to give a torn polo shirt a second chance and stitch him back together. The button in Jean’s left pocket - the only part of Marco that was left behind - suddenly feels too heavy.)

Eren and Armin look at each other anxiously, and Armin says with a trembling voice, “I know we aren’t meant to last forever, but-- still, I don’t want to lose any of my friends! We all live here together, don’t we? Doesn’t that make this our home?”

He trails off as the other objects murmur dejectedly to each other, _but we don’t have a choice_ and _this is the Human’s home, not ours...._

But Reiner suddenly straightens up and says determinedly, “No, Armin’s right.” He turns to look at the walls, the floors, his friends -- all as familiar and dear to him as the dotted pattern of his own sheets. “It doesn’t matter that we were born as objects. It doesn’t matter how we got here. What matters is that we found each other. We belong here. This _is_ our home.”

After a stunned silence, the murmurs start again, but this time growing louder and more excited, the word _home_ racing through the House from room to room. And soon the feeling of dread begins to fade, replaced with hope and a sense of belonging. Even the normally shy light bulbs blink happily.

Armin gathers Eren and Mikasa together, and reaches out to the others, devising a multitude of strategies to try and keep everyone safe when the day comes. (Jean hesitates at first, but after realizing that he doesn’t want anyone to suffer what he went through, he joins in with grim resolve.)

After offering a few ideas of his own, Reiner looks up to see a certain steam mop smiling at him. Feeling renewed with purpose, he vows to himself fiercely, _I won’t ever let anything happen to you, Bertholdt. I swear it._

+++++

Spring Cleaning comes and goes in a flurry of tears and anxiety, and while they still mourn a few who couldn’t be saved, the objects breathe a sigh of relief at having managed to protect almost everyone here.

After finding out that several survivors were misplaced or moved around, Armin and Reiner each form a small search-and-rescue team to tackle opposite ends of the House, working ‘round the clock (and sometimes with the clock, seeing as it possesses the best vantage point) to restore peace and order.

The setting sun glows a deep red as the exhausted teams begin making their final round. Reiner groans, stretching out the creases in his cardboard roll, and smiles tiredly as he congratulates his companions (a stoic roll of tape and an exuberant spatula). With their team alone, they managed to rescue a frightened safety pin that fell into the washing machine, escort a confused bottle of eye drops back to the bathroom, and reunite a lost bag clip with his family.

The team is heading back to the kitchen, passing by the basement door, when Reiner notices something amiss. 

“Huh, it’s open,” he mutters with a frown. “That’s weird.”

Curious, he steps closer and peers into the darkness. As far as he knows, the basement is a cold, empty room, devoid of anything except a water heater and a sump pump. (At least, that’s what Armin speculates, based on a few pictures he saw in a do-it-yourself repair book.) No one had ever seen the Human carry anything in or out of it, and no one particularly wanted to be the first to head down there.

Reiner stifles a yawn and decides to the leave the mystery for another day. He shuffles backward, intending to shut the door, but the edge of his sheet catches on a loose splinter and he finds himself seizing up with terror as he loses his balance and tumbles down, down, down the endless flight of stairs, his sheets swiftly unraveling, stars bursting into his vision--

Then his world goes black.


	6. six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: so sorry for the delay~ here's an itty bitty update. i shall return soooooon.

Being alone in the dark gives an object like Reiner a long time to think about his past. 

His memories, his sins, his regrets. 

They eat away at him, wearing down the edges of his sanity. 

_How long has it been? A day? A week?_ (In reality, it’s been thirty minutes.)

 _Have they noticed that I’m gone yet? Will anyone come for me? Will anyone even care....?_

Reiner releases a long and sorrowful sigh, fully aware that he’s wallowing in his own melodrama but hey, he deserves a break okay, he’s freaking stuck in a goddamn basement with no way out. Nobody gets to judge him.

He returns to his unending cycle of morbid thoughts, pondering all the ways he could die. The water heater could overheat, ignite, and he’d be burned to a crisp. The sump pump could fail and he’d disintegrate slowly (but surely) in a rising flood of water. Mice could come along and tear him to shreds, lining their nests with little pieces of Reiner and no one would ever find his remains.

_Here lies Reiner Braun. (Or what’s left of him.)_  
 _2013 - 2013._  
 _Beloved friend and household cleaner._  
 _He will be missed. And promptly replaced with a Shamwow._

He barks out a laugh. His entire life, boiled down to four lines. He never did aspire to be much more than a simple paper towel roll; he didn’t think he had to. But now, in the face of death, he fears he’ll be forgotten. No one to remember him and nothing to remember him by.

Would Bertholdt forget about him, over time? Would he find someone else to spend his days with?

Reiner sadly drags the corner of his sheet back and forth across the concrete floor. He never did get to hear Bertholdt’s answer. At least here, in the dark, he can imagine a resounding yes. A flurry of kisses, beams of joy, and--

No-- No, he’ll never really know. 

But at least he got to love. It’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. Armin used to say that sometimes, in a wistful tone, and Reiner thought he’d understood what it meant. But now he _knows_.

Feeling a renewed spark of desperation to live, he struggles again to roll himself towards the stairs--

And fails miserably, his sheets tangling further around him, ragged tears threatening to rip even more.

He breathes heavily, trying not to cry, and thinks all of a sudden about the two episodes of “Bear Grylls: Man vs Wild” he watched some time ago when the Human fell asleep on the couch in front of the TV. He wonders what Bear Grylls would do in this situation. (But since Bear Grylls is an ex-SAS soldier and not anything at all like a roll of paper towel, Reiner figures this is probably a moot exercise.)

He wishes he could’ve introduced “Man vs Wild” to Bertholdt. Bertholdt definitely would’ve liked it. They could’ve marveled over the outside world together. How impossibly big and unreal it seems. They could’ve laughed about how humans are kind of dumb and make their own lives so much harder than they have to be. They could’ve--

They could’ve--

Reiner gives in and starts sobbing. Loudly. 

And it suddenly morphs into a scream as a hoarse, rattling voice emerges from the gloom to say, “Whooo....the fuuuck....are youuu?”


End file.
